


Lend Me Your Fire

by uglyNicc



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Injuries, Rhys as Jack's PA
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglyNicc/pseuds/uglyNicc
Summary: Even bloodthirsty CEOs need comforting now and then, but Jack would never in his life ask for it.Luckily, he doesn’t really need to.





	Lend Me Your Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Yikes, I was sick and needed some hurt/comfort but it got a bit weird?

“Get in here, Rhys.”

Rhys’ fingers froze on the keyboard. His eyes snapped to the closed doors of Jack’s office. He hadn’t even realized the CEO was back. Most employees would be filled with a cold, creeping dread hearing Handsome Jack’s voice calling them over the intercom. It wasn’t fear that had Rhys quickly save his work, push out of his chair, and beeline for his boss’ office.

It was concern.

_Get in here, Rhys._

Not Rhysie. Not pumpkin. No kiddo or princess or sweet cheeks. Still no “Please,” or “If you’re not busy,” because that just wasn’t Jack.

Pausing before the doors, Rhys smoothed out his hair, took a deep breath, and gently pushed them open.

The lights were off, the air heavy. It was unusually quiet in the office, no sound of Jack’s sneakered feet pacing in front of the window, no screaming at some poor underling on his ECHO. Closing the doors with a soft click, Rhys began the trek across the vast room. His eyes were trained on the back of Jack’s chair, thrown into sharp silhouette amid the glowing light from Elpis.

Rhys followed a trail of discarded clothing up the stairs to his boss’ desk. Even in the low light, he could see splattered bloodstains and bits of charred shrapnel peppering the fabric. Jack’s gun and holster had been unceremoniously tossed aside along with his outer layers.

Rounding the corner of the desk, Rhys saw Jack in profile, staring unblinking at the vast expanse of stars and space beyond the thick glass. Jack didn’t look at him, or make any indication he knew his assistant was even there. His Hyperion sweater looked slightly more tattered and dirty than usual, but was relatively unscathed compared to the piles of clothing on the floor. His shoulders sagged against the high-backed yellow chair, his hands hung limply against the armrests.

A painful lump rose in Rhys’ throat. There was a sticky stream of drying blood trailing from a cut just below Jack’s hairline, and red bloomed across bandages on his left hand.

Rhys pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk and withdrew a small first aid kit. He'd put it there after he'd had to remove bits of broken plastic and glass from Jack's arm after his boss had angrily smashed an ECHOcom against a wall. Grabbing a handful of disinfecting wipes and bandages, Rhys stepped between Jack and the window. His unwavering gaze broken by the shadow cast over him by Rhys’ body, Jack finally woke from whatever dark thoughts had possessed him. His green and blue eyes darted up to meet Rhys'.

With the confidence born of familiarity, Rhys used his flesh hand to gently tilt Jack’s face up to him. On closer inspection, there was a small shard of shrapnel lodged shallowly in the wound. It didn’t look that bad, Rhys thought, not that he was an expert or anything, but he’d seen Jack sporting worse. He cautiously grasped the jagged shard between robotic fingers and pulled. The piece came out cleanly, a fresh dollop of blood oozing out in it’s wake. The CEO didn't so much as flinch. Rhys dabbed the dribble of blood with the disinfecting wipes, the strong smell of antiseptic stinging his eyes and nose.

Jack didn’t protest as Rhys scrubbed at his face. Tossing the soiled wipes into a bin under the desk, Rhys moved on to unwrap Jack’s injured hand. Once the dirty bandages were peeled away, Rhys noted the raw knuckles, oozing and wet, the skin ragged and torn, but at least free of dirt and grime. Jack’s eyes followed his PA’s deft hands as Rhys re-wrapped the wound in fresh white gauze.

With Jack more or less cleaned up, Rhys leaned over him, resting his hands on broad shoulders. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Lips pulled in a gaunt line, Jack’s voice was husky as he answered. “I’m fine, Rhys.”

There it was again. No humour or jabs, no pet names or endearments. Just _Rhys_.

Something bad must have happened down on Pandora. It wasn’t unusual for the Leader of Hyperion to return from a “Business Trip” covered in gore, and Jack could take care of himself, no question about that. Still, Rhys knew the other man well enough to know Jack never asked for help.

At least not directly.

Hands still resting on Jack’s shoulders, Rhys lifted his feet off the floor, his knees digging into the chair cushion on either side of Jack’s thighs. He eased down onto Jack’s lap, and felt large palms rest over his hips. Rhys brushed away a stray lock of hair, and leaned forward so they were forehead to forehead.

“It’s ok, Jack.”

The room was deathly still, as if time itself had stopped flowing around them. The two of them drifted soundlessly through the void of space, the endless dark pressing in on the only two souls left on Helios. It was a surreal feeling, making Rhys’ heart thud dully against his ribs. He inhaled deeply, the notes of gunpowder and disinfectant not strong enough to drown out Jack’s familiar musk.

Rhys could feel the warmth of Jack’s hands through his shirt, a reassuring pressure against his lower back. He tilted his head, bringing their lips together in a kiss that was uncharacteristically tender. Jack’s arms tightened around him as he pulled his PA closer, deepening the kiss, but keeping the slow, unhurried rhythm of their lips.

Jack had a lust for life, a fervour that carried over into all aspects of his work and relationships. He was normally an aggressive lover, all teeth and tongue and fire. Rhys was consumed by it, letting it envelop him as the scales tipped and he’d become something more than just Jack’s assistant.

But every fire burned to ash without someone to stoke the flames now and then.

Pulling away just slightly, Rhys planted light kisses at the corner of Jack’s mouth, his cheek, his nose, his temple, and Jack didn’t protest what he’d usually call “Mushy bullshit.” He kissed Jack’s forehead where the mask didn’t cover, and felt one of Jack’s hands move up to the nape of his neck, fingers massaging soothingly.

Rhys hummed appreciatively. He leaned back a bit to study Jack’s face, stroking the other man's jaw with his flesh hand. Some of the life had come back into Jack, his eyes no longer dull and glazed as he looked up at his assistant. The suffocating veil of silence that had covered them lifted, and time ticked back into motion. Pressing softly on the back of Rhys’ neck, Jack urged the man down for another kiss.

“You’re taking the rest of the day off,” Jack mumbled against his lips. Rhys nodded, pressing his forehead against Jack's once more before easing off the chair.

With a grunt, Jack stood as well, running his uninjured hand through his hair. “C’mon pumpkin, let’s get outta here,” he called, giving Rhys’ ass a light smack as he headed towards the office doors. “What’re you waiting for, a horse and carriage? Get a move on, princess.”

Rhys outwardly scowled, but felt warmth flood through him seeing Jack return to his usual, crass self.  
  
Some would scoff that such tenderness was wasted on a tyrant, and maybe they were right, Rhys thought. He knew Jack was too proud, too convinced of his own invulnerability, and would pretend these quiet moments between them never happened, like he always did.  
  
It didn't matter though. He may not look it, but Rhys was strong enough to lend his own fire when Jack needed it.


End file.
